With hawk and hounds she leads the moon-light ranks,
Of knights and dames, to Huntly's ferny banks,
Where Rymour, long of yore, the nymph embraced,
The first of men unearthly lips to taste.
Rash was the vow, and fatal was the hour,
Which gave a mortal to a fairy's power!
A lingering leave he took of sun and moon;
—Dire to the minstrel was the fairy's boon!—
A sad farewell of grass and green-leaved tree,
The haunts of childhood doomed no more to see.